


Separate Ways

by kayisdreaming



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, inspired by Journey's Separate Ways, one day I'll post something happy, onesided love anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" It had been almost imperceptible at first—when they had first come together. When Sherlock had first accepted him and agreed that the two would be partners. But John knew. He knew—even then, maybe, that it was just a lie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Separate Ways

John could see it. It had been almost imperceptible at first—when they had first come together. When Sherlock had first accepted him and agreed that the two would be partners. But John knew. He knew—even then, maybe, that it was just a lie. They could never be partners, and they never would be. It had always just been just a figment of John’s imagination—a wish and delusion that, eventually, he could get Sherlock to love him.

John could just get the traces on some nights. Get that small cue that, perhaps, it was possible. But that was after working practically tirelessly every day, trying to make it so Sherlock could even stand John’s touch. And that was John pushing himself onto Sherlock, basically. John was pretty sure that Sherlock could forever be perfectly fine without ever having sexual contact. But John couldn’t. This was him; this was his selfishness. But it was worth it. For just that moment, he could see it in Sherlock’s eyes—the trace that he could possibly love John.

And that made it worth everything. All of the effort, all of the frustration, all of the utter ridiculous hoops he had to jump through—it was worth it. Because, for some odd reason, he loved Sherlock. And, someday (he hoped) he could get Sherlock to feel the same. To get Sherlock to love him.

He knew Sherlock didn’t. Sherlock had been blunt enough about it before. But just that he was willing enough to try. Because, if anyone was capable of getting him to love, it was John—the only person who he was willing enough to accept as a friend.

Then John knew what Sherlock thought. To bother with love was ridiculous. It was dangerous. But John was willing to risk it. He loved Sherlock, and, if something happened to John, then it was fine. He would do anything for Sherlock. And, if Sherlock never loved anyone, he couldn’t be hurt if something happened. If John was there or not. Maybe, maybe that was for the best.

John sighed, lying awake for another night. It had been too quiet lately. Too few cases. Which meant that Moriarty was going to show up again. Everything John had worked for—the little traces of love that he spotted here and there—they were vanishing. Sherlock was getting more distant. Less willing to do anything. Waiting for his rival to show his face again. Sometimes he responded to John, but never with the result it had before. Everything John had done, all the progress he had made, it was gone.

Sherlock moved—done with sleeping. He turned to get up, off to go into another of the rooms to think. Didn’t even notice as John reached to touch him, fingers just missing grazing the skin of his back. So many nights like this—left alone, hardly noticed. So little time, and it was passing through John’s fingers. And, like sand, he couldn’t hold tight enough to even keep the fragment of what it was.

He understood that Sherlock had to worry about Moriarty. The true threat—to more than just Sherlock. To everyone. Sherlock had to focus on that, now that the time was drawing nearer. But even the normal mind was capable on focusing on more than one thing. So why couldn’t Sherlock’s? Why couldn’t he let this stay?

It was simple. If it ended because of this, then there was nothing there. The shreds John saw were little more than his own delusions—his own wishes messing with perception. He wanted it so much. So much that he couldn’t leave Sherlock, not after this. The sleepless nights, the empty bed—it was okay. It was fine.

Because John loved Sherlock. He would jump in front of a bullet for Sherlock, go through every layer of hell, every pain and torment. He’d be the one to take the damage, the punishment. If, in the end, Sherlock made it through and John didn’t—that was okay. John would never desert Sherlock; John would always follow like the love-struck puppy he was.

His heart hurt when Sherlock looked at him. When it seemed Sherlock only did it to acknowledge his presence. He wasn’t looking at John anymore. Maybe he never had. Maybe this was just another way to entertain himself in the lulls of activity. It was okay. It was fine. It was . . . just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Come to fruition due to Tumblr prompt.


End file.
